An Unlikely Miracle

The longer I’ve been here, the more I’ve recognized the importance of coming to D.C. with an open mind. While in a program like Washington Journalism Center, going to different parts of town is inevitable. Saturday I experienced two very opposite parts of town in a matter of hours.

Bus Day.

Around 10 a.m., a group of six of us from WJC and ASP left the Dellenback for Anacostia—one of the most impoverished areas of the city.  The intersection where we got off the bus was a bit desolate on the cloudy, chilly morning. Our first stop was a Bethel Christian Fellowship, a small church near our bus stop. The door was unlocked, so we walked inside. There was a group of African-American children near the stage, and scattered adults in the chairs. Everyone turned to look at us.

After exchanging awkward glances for several seconds, a lady approached us. “Are you lost?” she asked. I snickered to myself. We were in ghetto. I bet we did look very out of place. We assured her we wanted to be there, and we were looking for a member of the church to speak with.

Fern ended up being that member, as well as introducing us to the pastor, his wife and the group of elders. Not only did she proceed to show us the church, but she also gave us a tour of historic downtown Anacostia and gave us her number in case anything went wrong.

As we went about our day, we saw poverty unlike I had seen in D.C. (with the exception of the homeless). There is a good chance we passed more houses and businesses boarded up than we saw occupied. We headed home around 2:30 because I had a big night to get ready for.

Leukemia Ball.

This was the event I had been waiting for. I asked Nikki and Katy, the gossip columnists at The Examiner, if I could go to the Leukemia Ball over a month ago. I had my mom send one of my gowns from high school soon after to make sure I had it in plenty of time. I was going to be attending a “supreme evening with Diana Ross.” (And in case you were wondering, she put on an excellent performance!)

I got all dolled up, and my friend Caitlin picked me up. Although I was dressed nicely, my mind was in Anacostia. I was immediately shocked, almost disgusted, at the glamour of the event.

Don’t get me wrong; I am all for cancer research, and I’m trust that the money earned from it gets used well. However, I couldn’t help but think that the money used to put on the event could have been used more constructively.

Then the bidding and donations started. I watched the number on the screen climb to over $125,000. It was beyond me that people in this town could drop money like that. Again, it was for a good cause—a well-known organization—but I bet the richest man in that room made more than the sum of one hundred in Anacostia.

That evening, I was most touched by the 16-year-old who was the honored guest at the ball. She had been fighting cancer since she was 7, and her brother saved her life two years ago by donating bone marrow. The love they all had for each other was so evident, and it was truly beautiful how something so trying united that family.

Resilience.

A portion of our group decided to go to Bethel Christian Fellowship for their Sunday service. Fern was quite set on seeing us all again. I had never been to a charismatic church, but it was a lot of fun. Different, but fun.

Again, our group stood out. The pastor recognized us and thanked us for coming.

“Ya’ll are like Star Trek,” he said. “Goin’ places where no one else will go.”

That community of Christ-followers did not want to chase away white people like me. They wanted to embrace us, and they certainly did. I hugged at least 50 people.

When we arrived, some adults were in the chapel doing Sunday School. The teacher was talking about sticking to God through thick and thin.

“Even though I recently found out I’m HIV positive, I’m still walking in the Lord. This life isn’t over until He says it is!” she proclaimed.

Her statement was met with "mhmm’s," "praise Jesus’" and "amen’s" across the room. Resilience, I thought.

The pastor spoke on Matthew 15:21-28—the story of the mother pleading for Jesus to heal her demon-possessed daughter. He said that sometimes you have to cry and plead for a while before He gives you what you need, and He does that to stretch your faith. When pleading for food, even a crumb is a blessing because it is from God. The bottom line is a person’s faith, and that is what God measures you by. A faith that can withstand anything is the faith he preached; a faith that I saw in so many of the people in that church in the ghetto.

Resilience.